


Good Person

by armlessphelan



Category: Original Work
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Heartbreak, Hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 10:04:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10090406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armlessphelan/pseuds/armlessphelan
Summary: Two friends discuss a tricky situation.





	

"Why is it so hard to be a good person?" he asks me, looking stumped.

I don't know what to tell him, so I counter with a question of my own. "What is a good person? To you, that is."

He muses quietly for a few moments, biting off his thumbnail and spitting it onto the floor. I want to chastise him but don't. It's best that he thinks.

"Someone who doesn't hurt people. Someone who helps people without asking for anything in return. Someone who isn't a burden to those around him." His shoulders slump a little after he answers. It tells me that there's more to his words than he's saying.

"How do you not hurt people?" I ask.

"Are you a therapist?" He doesn't laugh, but it's obvious he meant it as a joke. "Just don't, you know, be a fucking dick. Be nice to people. But not too nice."

"You can be too nice?" I even surprise myself with the question. "What's going on, here? You came to me wanting to talk, but all you've done is talk around things. I tried playing along, but you know that my patience is shit."

"I think I'm having an affair." He stares me right in the eyes as he says it. They're red and watery, as if he's doing his best not to cry. "I didn't mean to. I don't even know how it happened, but I think I'm having an affair."

"You don't know if it's an affair? How do you not know? Who is it with?" I ask, having no intention of telling anyone else.

He shakes his head and tears his eyes away from me. "That doesn't matter. It's not even a real affair. Not really. There's no sneaking or hidden declarations of love or anything like that. I just... It was supposed to be a friendship and nothing more. I'm single and there's a marriage there, but we just talk. But we talk for hours. About the stupidest things."

"Do you know what an affair is?" Even though he started off with a question, I seem to be the one asking them. This is not where I saw this conversation going.

"I know what an emotional affair is." His reply is curt.

I want to hug him because I can see him struggle not to shake, but I know that if I do he'll withdraw into himself. Then he'll lose whatever little bit of sanity he's getting from this conversation.

"That's the problem," he continues. "I know exactly what an emotional affair is, and I'm having one. And I didn't mean to do it. We were just friends, until..."

"Until you weren't?"

"Nothing happened," he assures me, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "Nothing has ever happened. I won't let it. I won't do that to another person. But it almost did. I think.

"We were in my car, just running to the gas station to get cigarettes and talking. All we do is talk. But then it hit me that there was something there. We both felt it, I think. I don't know for sure. We stopped talking. We waited, just looking at each other for a long time. Too long. Then I forced myself out of the car. I went into the gas station and bought the cigarettes, and when I came out whatever was there was gone."

"But you didn't do anything wrong." It's the first thing I've said that isn't in the form of a question. He notices.

"But I almost did." He hangs his head and starts wringing his hands. "And I'm terrified that I still could. I'm fighting every day now. It takes all my strength not to say anything, let alone do anything. I keep myself away as often as I can, but it's not enough. We ran into each other at the grocery store last week and I had to pretend to have a date to get out of a dinner invitation.

"It's making me sick. Like, physically. I barely eat anymore. When I do, all I want to do is vomit and it takes everything I have to keep it down. Even the most basic tasks have become a tedious chore because all I want to do is go to sleep so I don't have to deal with it."

"What do you dream about?" Someone once told me that dreams are a window to the soul. Maybe his dreams will shed some light on things.

"I don't remember," he tells me, killing that idea. He looks up for a moment with half of a smile. "I can never remember anymore. But at least then I'm free from all of this. I feel guilty every second of every day that I'm awake for something that I haven't even done! And I just know that if I say the wrong thing to the wrong person, word will get back and I'm finished. I'm done.

"And the kicker? I don't want to stay away. I wanted to go to that dinner. I want so bad to bust up that marriage for my shot at being happy, but I know it'll all come at someone else's expense. All that's keeping me from getting everything I want is my own sense of morality. Because the feelings are returned. I know they are. When I look into those eyes, there's not a doubt in my mind about it.

"But I just say nothing. I suffer in silence so nobody else has to do it. And I still feel guilty. Even though I've done nothing but try to be a good person and let it all go, I feel stuck. I've tried dating. It doesn't work. It just makes me feel bad for leading someone else on. Nothing I do is letting me move on with my life. Time, distance, other people... It's all still right there."

There's nothing I can say. Absolutely nothing. All of this has left me out of my depth. But I say something anyway. "Why not talk about it? Maybe it's keeping it bottled up that's keeping you from being able to move on."

"Because once I open that can of worms, it only gets worse. Either I get rejected and left heartbroken, or it is mutual and everyone else gets hurt instead. But either way it's all over. There's no coming back from that. Everyone will know and I can't handle that. And I'm selfish enough to want to keep coming back for more punishment. I don't know how to stop. I don't think I want to stop. I've become addicted to the pain."

He stops and stares into space at the revelation.

"I'm addicted to the pain? I really am fucked, aren't I?"

And I don't say anything, because I know that he's right: he's well and truly fucked. And I have no way of making it better. I don't think there's a way to make it better. This is the most lose-lose situation I've ever seen.

"Can you not tell anyone about this?" He is almost pleading with me. I think that, if he weren't afraid of collapsing, he actually would do just that. "Can we just keep it between us? Please?"

I don't smile. I don't nod. I just stare into his eyes and wish I could make it all better, but I know that I can't. I don't know what to do, and it's far too obvious that neither does he.


End file.
